


Blavatnik

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [113]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 38 lifetimes, Adultery, Cheating, F/M, Flirting, Foreplay, Making Out, RPF, Snogging, Tate Modern, meet cute, near adultery, the red nose diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 04:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Benedict Cumberbatch invites his best friend Tom Hiddleston out to lunch to meet his new friend Carmen.





	Blavatnik

Ben stole a bite of Tom’s pudding, waiting after his lunch companion took a picture of the plate (as it had been arranged to mimic the Picasso paintings on exhibit five floors below) to text to his niece.

“Thanks for waiting,” Tom grumbled. “This time.”

“Don’t be like that,” Ben said in a soothing sort of way. “Thanks for indulging me in this…” He waved his hand in the air, gesturing at the room.

It wasn’t their usual sort of spot, though the time — 2:30pm on a rather blustery Tuesday in what was turning out to be a damper than usual March — was typical for the two friends. They usually met up closer to home. A shabby pub in North London, say, or a sleek and modern coffee bar. Hats pulled down and hands jammed in coat pockets, they would make their way to an out of the way table or a booth at the back of wherever it was and for a few hours they could just hang out like two normal blokes. No strangers to be wary of or telephoto lenses to shy away from.

Tom took a good look around the restaurant. It was spare, with impeccable views. Quiet, discreet staff. Quiet, discreet patrons who barely reacted when the two of them arrived for their reservation. If anybody knew who they were, they didn’t say.

Ben cleaned off his spoon, then sat back with a satisfied look. “So I’ve met someone.”

_ Ah _ , Tom thought to himself. He considered his dessert, the rich smell of espresso rising from the cup placed in front of him by the black-clad waiter who arrived and departed with nary a word.

Ben may not have been Catholic but he did have good taste in confessionals.

Tom tried not to frown, but he couldn’t help it. He never met anybody. Ben was always meeting interesting women. Or rather, they were always meeting him. “What happened to Sophie?” He wondered.

“Carmen happened to Sophie,” replied Ben, confidently. “All that on-and-off business.” He shrugged. “She deserves to move on so…”

“You moved on for her?’ Tom asked, icily.

“Something like that, yes.” Ben decided to ignore Tom’s disapproving tone.

“Please don’t tell me…”

“We haven’t exactly been getting along, Tom.”

“But have you properly ended it?”

“Almost.”

_ “Almost?!” _

“It all depends on Carmen,” Ben said. “Whether I like her enough.”

“You are such a prick.”

“Oh, come on,” whined Ben. “Just having a little fun. We haven’t even snogged yet!”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Saint Benedict.”

“Anyway, you’ll like her. You’ll see.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

Ben looked at Tom as though he were a simpleton.

“She’s meeting us here, of course.”

“She?” Tom gasped. “Us?”

“You’re my best friend, and an excellent judge of character,” Ben chirped.

Tom did not chirp back. “If that was the case then why am I friends with a git like you?”

Ben looked at Tom fondly. “You love me. You can’t help it.”

“You just want cover from Sophie in case it gets back to her you were having lunch with a woman.”

“I always knew you were a smart one.” Ben smirked. “Double first from Cambridge and all…”

“This is going to be awful,” Tom muttered.

“She’s going to find you  _ adorable _ .”

Tom frowned, but didn’t bother denying it.

“She’s going to like you, you know.” Ben declared.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Everybody likes you,” Ben said.

Tom snorted.

“Stop making those awful sounds,” Ben admonished him playfully. Catching sight of something over Tom’s shoulder, he grinned. “She’s here.”

They rose to their feet, welcoming Carmen to their table.

And Tom found that while she was not Ben’s usual type (pale, skinny, White), Carmen was definitely his.

Dark hair, with scant threads of white in curls that he wanted to twist around his finger tips. Dark, lively eyes. A small but full mouth. She was heavy. Fat even, something that Tom didn’t mind so much as wholeheartedly approve of. She murmured apologies whenever she crossed her legs, for her feet would brush against Tom’s calf when she did.

There was something frank, open to the way that she looked at him, and Tom found that he didn’t mind it. It wasn’t like being stared at on the tube, or on the street, or on the stage. Nothing starstruck or dumbstruck in her eyes. But it wasn’t matter-of-fact, either. More like familiar. Like they knew each other, or more like she had his number, as her fellow Americans liked to say. Tom liked listening to her — the sound of her voice, her laugh — but for all the listening he had done he was still caught by surprise when, after Ben had excused himself to visit the toilet and make a phone call, Carmen focused her gaze on him.

“Ben said I would like you,” Carmen said.

“And do you?” Tom asked.

Carmen nodded at Tom’s empty plate, which had migrated to her place setting. “You let me finish your pudding.”

“To be fair,” Tom said, earnestly, “You seemed to like it more than I did.”

Carmen nodded. “You laugh at Ben’s dumb jokes.”

Tom wrinkled his nose. “Does he have any other kind?”

Carmen laughed, which pleased Tom. “Ben’s fun.”

“He is,” Tom agreed. “Are you enjoying yourself with him?”

Carmen smirked as she sipped from a glass of sparkling water. “Is that a polite way of asking if we’ve fucked yet?”

Tom could only reply by coughing, then laughing, then coughing and laughing. Carmen took Ben’s seat, sitting next to Tom as she helped him drink a glass of water. When she rubbed his back, Tom felt himself relax. Since when had he been so tense? But when her hand found its seemingly rightful place in the small of his back, Tom leaned into her side and smiled.

Ben returned, offering apologies. He paid the bill, and escorted Tom and Carmen on a tour of the Picasso exhibit. Ben offered the use of his arm to Carmen. He didn’t seem to mind when Carmen would reach for Tom with her free hand, making sure he didn’t wander astray.

Ben saw to it that she was safely ensconced in a black cab home, making arrangements to pay for it, before he and Tom grabbed the tube back to their own cozy homes up north.

The following Saturday was another dreary day, this time with rain. Tom was hurrying back from the market, a bottle of milk in his hand, when he literally ran into Carmen about to head into the tube.

After kissing hello (on the cheek), Tom asked how she was doing.

“Oh, fine,” Carmen said. “I don’t think I’m going to see Ben anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Tom, meaning it sincerely. “What happened to you and Ben?”

Biting her lip, Carmen grasped Tom’s forearm. “You did, Tom.”

There was a moment, where the sounds of people hustling by on the sidewalk and the trains far below, seemed to swell. A moment where Tom waited, because he wanted to remember it. A moment where Carmen’s breath hitched, because she didn’t know that. She only knew that she wanted Tom, and she wondered if perhaps he didn’t want her back.

The next moment had barely begun before Tom offered his arm to her. Taking it, Carmen followed him out and into the rain. The walk to his house was short, and anyway his house was warm.

There was a friendly dog who gave her ankles a perfunctory sniff before demanding to be let into her lap.

There were cheese toasties while Tom walked her through making a perfect cup of tea.

There were shy looks, and tentative touches.

The television set to something mindless while they pretended they were not inching closer to each other as they sat next to each other on the sofa.

There was a head on a shoulder, then an arm around a waist, and then somebody was in somebody’s lap. Whispers and nipping and then their first kiss. A second kiss. A third fourth fifth and then  _ ohmygod _ and  _ rightthere _ and  _ youfeelsogood _ and  _ yes _ and  _ yesyesyes _ and  _ ohfuckyes _ .

Stumbling upstairs to dive under the covers and explore. Throw the curtains open and look at themselves in afternoon light refracted by white cotton.

Expanses of freckled creamy skin and dappled olive flesh.

Hard muscle and soft curves. Mouth to mouth, hand to hip. Cock, hard and aching, pressed against wet and tender flesh. A supple tongue plunging into wet pink folds, twisting around her clit. That cock again, sliding inside while breaths are held, and hearts beat, ecstatically, as one.


End file.
